


i dance as if to hide myself

by 7pt



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, M/M, Minor Injuries, No Spoilers, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Waltzing, lowkey pining, they're stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 04:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7pt/pseuds/7pt
Summary: Dimitri isn’t sure if that deafening crashing noise is the ballroom exploding around him or just the sound of his common sense tripping over a stray pebble named Claude von Riegan and falling face-first on solid stone.It might be the latter.—In which Dimitri tries to teach Claude how to waltz.





	i dance as if to hide myself

**Author's Note:**

> yes the game hasn't come out yet, yes this might be ooc, do i care? no
> 
> timeline is vague here & also i know nothing abt 3h but just know that nothing fucked up has happened yet. theyre all happy
> 
> (last updated july 22: fixed some wording and went slightly overboard w/ adding stuff)

“Claude,  _ please _ tell me that you’ve been able to find at least one suitable dance partner during this whole ball,” Dimitri sighs, delicately disentangling himself from the noble girl who had been pushed into his arms for a dance. She huffs and stomps away, likely going off to plan a revolt against the royal family.

Just a couple of steps away, Claude laughs sheepishly and runs a hand through his already-messy hair.

(Dimitri tears his eyes away before his wayward mind could come up with anything else involving Claude’s hands or his decidedly soft-looking locks.) 

“Well?” He resists the urge to tap his boot against the polished marble of the castle ballroom, with great difficulty. 

“So,” Claude manages, “it turns out that I’m very incapable of dancing in time to any kind of rhythm or music.” His brows are furrowed, obviously distressed. “I keep tripping up the ladies. It’s awful.”

Dimitri frowns a little, bemused. “And this explains why you’ve so rudely interrupted my dance with that poor girl?” 

“Yes!” Claude’s eyes light up dangerously. “I just came up with the perfect solution to help me with this dilemma.” He strokes his chin, as if deep in thought.

“Should I be afraid?” He crosses his arms.

Claude takes a deep breath. “Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus…” he recites passionately, “will you teach me how to dance?”

—

Dimitri isn’t sure if that deafening crashing noise is the ballroom exploding around him or just the sound of his common sense tripping over a stray pebble named  _ Claude von Riegan  _ and falling face-first on solid stone. 

It might be the latter.

He should let this man flail and flounder and fumble all by his lonesome. They’re supposed to be bitter rivals, after all—though, Dimitri admits privately, he’s begun to see Claude more as a friend… or something. Foolishly, he opens his big mouth and says, “Alright then.”

Oh, Dimitri, you absolute damned buffoon. You may as well quit being a prince and debut as a court jester instead.

Dimitri desperately wants to give himself a hard slap across the face as a punishment for his stupidity, but he holds back for the sake of his dignity, which will surely be torn to shreds within a few short minutes. Or seconds. It's only a matter of time.

“You’re truly my greatest saviour, my light in the darkness, my hero!” Claude declares dramatically. “I vow to never call you a disgusting upstart or a putrid mop-head ever again.” He rests his right hand over his heart in a mockery of an oath, eyes closed solemnly. 

Dimitri coughs deliberately, now very aware of the amused glances and murmurs from the plethora of nobles and royals crowding the huge ballroom. Great. He's going to become the latest court gossip. “Do you want to dance… right now? Here?” he says softly.

“Oh, sure.” Claude seems to break out of his trance. “How are we doing this?” 

Stepping into Dimitri’s personal space, Claude places a gentle, warm hand on his waist and holds his left hand up and to the side for Dimitri to clasp. “Is this how it works?” he asks, a cheeky smirk on his face.

Dimitri stares straight into those wonderful green eyes and deadpans, “I’ll be leading.”

“What? I want to lead.”

“Do you know how to waltz?”

“Well, no, that’s why you’re here. To teach me.”

“You have to learn to follow first.”

“Why can’t I lead first?”

“...I’m taller than you.” Before Claude can get another word in and drag their little bicker on for even longer, Dimitri swiftly knocks Claude’s hand off of his waist and reverses the position, with his own right hand now firmly on Claude’s shoulder blade. Grudgingly, Claude places his left hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, letting his other hand rest on Dimitri’s palm.

“Wow, what a bully. Way to make me feel insecure about my height,” Claude mutters, half-jokingly. Rolling his eyes, Dimitri pulls him closer to whisper into his ear. 

“Just follow me, okay? Just step with me and you’ll get it in no time. We don’t have to learn the advanced steps today.” Being so close to him, Dimitri can feel the body heat rolling off Claude and wills his traitorous face to not turn red. He bites his lip surreptitiously, hoping that the man in his arms right now doesn’t hear his thunderous heartbeat.

As the orchestra begins their next tune, a slow, romantic number, the room quietens, and the many couples step together, bodies and faces close to one another. Under his breath, Dimitri curses the Goddess for doing this to him. But regardless, he starts the very basic steps of a waltz: forward and to the right in three beats, and backward and to the left in the same amount of beats, all while Claude stumbles the steps with him, just a little bit off. It would look passable as a proper waltz at first glance, anyway.

“You’re keeping up better than I thought,” he remarks quietly.

“Your fault for underestimating me, buddy. I’m a natural.”

Annoyed, Dimitri pinches Claude through the velvety material of his coat, grinning smugly when Claude visibly flinches. He kicks Dimitri in the shins discreetly.

“Hey, I bet I can do a cool spin.” He winks.

“I wouldn’t put any gold on that.”

Claude laughs. “Oh, really? Check this out then.”

Dimitri manages to screech, “Wait, I thought you were kiddi—” before being dragged by Claude to perform an extremely off-beat two-way underarm turn, followed, somehow, by a bastardised pirouette of some kind, finishing with his boot landing cleanly on top of Dimitri’s foot.

“Ouch, you—” He tries to take another step back, but Claude has him trapped. To make things go from bad to cataclysmic, Claude also steps on Dimitri’s  _ other shoe _ . By the time Dimitri realises that the whole world was spinning out from under him, it was far too late. And so, the pair end up in a pile in the middle of the very decorated, very crowded ballroom. Gasps ring out across the floor. And then, all is silent.

Dimitri’s head is throbbing, as if someone had shot him right in the back of his head with an arrow. He pats his body and the ground around him, trying to reorientate himself through the pain. There was something—someone?—warm and heavy on him, though. 

Ah.

Unfortunately for Dimitri, he hadn't noticed that Claude is now sprawled on top of him, face against his chest. Arms around Dimitri’s waist.

He groans. Why hasn’t anyone come to help them up? “Get up, you idiot.” He tries, to no avail, to free himself from under Claude.

Claude groans also. “I have broken every single bone in my fragile body.”

“Ugh. You’re so heavy. Get off me." Dimitri tries to roll his eyes again, but the pain is overwhelming. "Everyone’s watching us making fools out of ourselves.” He smacks Claude’s back lightly.

Claude turns and cackles into Dimitri’s chest, and wraps his arms tighter. “Whatever. Guess you could say… we fell for each other, huh?”

“W-What?” chokes Dimitri.

“Haha… You’re so warm…” Claude whispers tenderly. “You make me feel so safe… I want to stay like this… Your arms are really nice… Ah…” He nuzzles harder into Dimitri's chest and reaches out to grasp Dimitri's hand. 

Dimitri feels like his heart is about to leap directly out of his body from how hard it's throwing itself against his ribcage.

This is bad. Really bad. Claude's starting to lose his marbles. That fall must've done something terrible to his head. Oh, dear Goddess.

Claude rubs his thumb across Dimitri's sweaty palm.

Ignoring his burning face, Dimitri waves over a medic with his free hand and finally breathes a sigh of relief as Claude is peeled off of him by two disgruntled-looking staff and escorted away, presumably to the castle infirmary. He sits up, rubbing his sore face, hoping the blush would go away before some nosy noble decides to make a witty comment about the situation. 

He exhales. With luck, Claude should, in theory, not be able to remember anything that happened after the fall, judging from his behaviour. Nevertheless, Dimitri looks forward to the freedom of never having Claude as a dance partner again. 

—

But, if Dimitri falls asleep that night to the memory of Claude’s voice and the warmth of his touch, no one would ever know.

**Author's Note:**

> i realised too late that i have no idea how waltzes work & it's 4am rn so tell me if i have huge glaring errors lol
> 
> will we ever get to see what happened to claude? who knows


End file.
